Around 5:07 p.m last night, I put what I believe are going to be the finishing touches on the work I had intended to do for the day. One of these final tasks involves using instant messenger with a collaborator from the States who is in Zambia for the next few weeks; we need to finish our project (everyone like how I’m being ridiculously vague so far? I’m trying so hard to not give any details regarding what I do for a profession. This is for the rare circumstance that I make a fool out of myself in this blog and people here in Zambia demand satisfaction from my employer.) and I’m trying to figure out our game plan for the upcoming days. It’s at this time that he informs me he is going to send me an enormous file and it’s going to take like an hour to download. I wanna tell him we’ll do it tomorrow, but he implicitly guilts me into staying by informing me that he’s gonna be working until 8:30 p.m. Great.
So, for the next 15 minutes I stare at my computer screen and think about how starving I am. I realize that this is not going to work and the bowl of rice I had for lunch isn’t going to suffice me until 8:30. (Quick side note: Yesterday was a monumental lunch day with the bowl of rice. It marked the first time in 14 days that I did not eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. It was sad to see the streak end and even sadder when I realize how unfilling just rice is. Then again, I’m lazy and it’s pretty easy to bring in leftover rice for lunch.) So, I spend the next 2 minutes debating whether I wanna walk to the grocery store and the next 4 minutes debating which grocery store do I want to go to: the closer one with inedible meat/ dairy or the farther one.
While I technically still have a box of milk at home, I have decided that I am morally against any dairy product that comes in a cardboard box and can set in your cubbard for 3 months and still technically be good. So, I need fresh milk and it looks like I’m going to the farther one. The nice thing about this grocery store is that it’s in a mini stripmall with a few restaurants, including Subway (which doesn’t sell turkey and I refuse to patronize….I love subway so much, why would I risk tainting that love with inferior sandwiches? I’ll wait until I return to the States), an Indian place, and Kilimanjaro (the closest thing to America here in Lusaka).
I get my box of Kips (the GREATEST thing about living in Zambia. Imagine Ritz crackers combined with sour cream and onion chips. SO phenomenal), milk, 2 sports drinks, and some other random stuff. I pick up my Thai Beef Salad from Kilimanjaro for dinner. I realize I have 7 grocery bags, my dinner, work is 0.75 miles away, and I’m lazy; it’s time to hail a cab.
So, the taxi system here is fantastic. You have three options for getting rides places: (1) call dial-a-cab and have them pick you up – they have meters to determine the cost, (2) find a blue taxi sitting around and ask them/ negotiate a fare to your destination, or (3) wave at any of the billion doods who are honking at you in their unmarked cars and have them take you to your destination for a fee similar to the taxis (my personal favorite). (2) and (3) are the obvious options when you are in a busy parking lot, but you can pretty much guarantee they are going to try to overcharge you because they think you have money.
Okay, here are things I love about taxis: (1) Random doods honking at you, (2) None of the drivers having absolutely any clue where anything in this city is, except for the two main strip malls. It’s the equivalent of me going to Chicago, hailing a cab, asking how much it will cost to get to Lake Shore, and having them quizzically look at me and ask ‘Lake Shore?’, (3) the frequency of how often I’ve been quoted outrageous prices to close destinations when I ask how much it will be, and (4) how quickly that same price drops as soon as you start to negotiate.
So, no one in this city pays more for taxis than I do. I never have the heart to negotiate over $1.25 so I just get in and go home. Last night, though, I changed my gameplan: lowball and see the reaction.
First cab. Honk, Wave, Describe my destination, Confused Look, Further Explanation, Still Confused, Give Landmarks, Ask Price, 20,000 kwacha, ‘That’s more than I was thinking’, ‘How much were you thinking?’, ’12,000 kwacha’, cab drives away before the door is shut.
Second cab. Honk, Wave, destination, Confused Look, Further Explanation, Still Confused, Give Landmarks, Ask Price, 20,000 kwacha, ’15,000 kwacha’, ‘Hold on, let me wave at my friend...give him hand signals for 5 minutes…he’ll take you there for that price’, wait for dood to cross parking lot, get back to work.
I’m not entirely sure why one guy wouldn’t drive me for 15000 but he knew his friend would. Whatever. I love Zambian transportation.
So, for the next 15 minutes I stare at my computer screen and think about how starving I am. I realize that this is not going to work and the bowl of rice I had for lunch isn’t going to suffice me until 8:30. (Quick side note: Yesterday was a monumental lunch day with the bowl of rice. It marked the first time in 14 days that I did not eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. It was sad to see the streak end and even sadder when I realize how unfilling just rice is. Then again, I’m lazy and it’s pretty easy to bring in leftover rice for lunch.) So, I spend the next 2 minutes debating whether I wanna walk to the grocery store and the next 4 minutes debating which grocery store do I want to go to: the closer one with inedible meat/ dairy or the farther one.
While I technically still have a box of milk at home, I have decided that I am morally against any dairy product that comes in a cardboard box and can set in your cubbard for 3 months and still technically be good. So, I need fresh milk and it looks like I’m going to the farther one. The nice thing about this grocery store is that it’s in a mini stripmall with a few restaurants, including Subway (which doesn’t sell turkey and I refuse to patronize….I love subway so much, why would I risk tainting that love with inferior sandwiches? I’ll wait until I return to the States), an Indian place, and Kilimanjaro (the closest thing to America here in Lusaka).
I get my box of Kips (the GREATEST thing about living in Zambia. Imagine Ritz crackers combined with sour cream and onion chips. SO phenomenal), milk, 2 sports drinks, and some other random stuff. I pick up my Thai Beef Salad from Kilimanjaro for dinner. I realize I have 7 grocery bags, my dinner, work is 0.75 miles away, and I’m lazy; it’s time to hail a cab.
So, the taxi system here is fantastic. You have three options for getting rides places: (1) call dial-a-cab and have them pick you up – they have meters to determine the cost, (2) find a blue taxi sitting around and ask them/ negotiate a fare to your destination, or (3) wave at any of the billion doods who are honking at you in their unmarked cars and have them take you to your destination for a fee similar to the taxis (my personal favorite). (2) and (3) are the obvious options when you are in a busy parking lot, but you can pretty much guarantee they are going to try to overcharge you because they think you have money.
Okay, here are things I love about taxis: (1) Random doods honking at you, (2) None of the drivers having absolutely any clue where anything in this city is, except for the two main strip malls. It’s the equivalent of me going to Chicago, hailing a cab, asking how much it will cost to get to Lake Shore, and having them quizzically look at me and ask ‘Lake Shore?’, (3) the frequency of how often I’ve been quoted outrageous prices to close destinations when I ask how much it will be, and (4) how quickly that same price drops as soon as you start to negotiate.
So, no one in this city pays more for taxis than I do. I never have the heart to negotiate over $1.25 so I just get in and go home. Last night, though, I changed my gameplan: lowball and see the reaction.
First cab. Honk, Wave, Describe my destination, Confused Look, Further Explanation, Still Confused, Give Landmarks, Ask Price, 20,000 kwacha, ‘That’s more than I was thinking’, ‘How much were you thinking?’, ’12,000 kwacha’, cab drives away before the door is shut.
Second cab. Honk, Wave, destination, Confused Look, Further Explanation, Still Confused, Give Landmarks, Ask Price, 20,000 kwacha, ’15,000 kwacha’, ‘Hold on, let me wave at my friend...give him hand signals for 5 minutes…he’ll take you there for that price’, wait for dood to cross parking lot, get back to work.
I’m not entirely sure why one guy wouldn’t drive me for 15000 but he knew his friend would. Whatever. I love Zambian transportation.
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